Safe and Sound
by ChibiKillerPanda
Summary: There were no hierarchy's left to follow. No structure to reside in and no social ladder to climb. A man stood on the top floor of a rusting building captured by sand and waste, and there were no cars to stop and no people to stare.
1. Rabbits Tail

People had said that when the footsteps of mankind ceased to be, forests would grow and nothing would have to be oppressed by a nation's hand. People had said that when civilization ceased to be, deserts would recede and the Earth could return and flourish until nothing else remained but an endless palette of colours without the blemish of war. It was all a theory. A hope that most people had hidden away in their hearts while others were busy with their noses in green piles of currency that was a symbol of all of the greed that held their hearts close and caressed their minds with individual tendrils of green. Green was a good colour. Not much remained now that the world had turned to more and more war and bombs upon bombs were thrown onto the soils of Nations to add another scar to an already battered, failing body.

Nations would fall. Their people would cry. Society would fight.

It was not always that the government had to fear its people. When everything had been said and done and anthems ceased to be the people had receded into their shells and hoarded what they needed and what they wanted. Not much could be taken. Whatever slowed down their escape made the walkers gain in closer and gain an advantage. The shadows nearly killed the light, and all that has become dead or gone has either risen or become silenced with the blow of impact to the head. There were no hierarchy's left to follow. No structure to reside in and no social ladder to climb. A man stood on the top floor of a rusting building captured by sand and waste, and there were no cars to stop and no people to stare. The only heads that turned were the ones with empty eyes and hungry mouths, held away from his pert flesh by a pane of glass that was already cracked and its frame already splintered. Heads would roll. Only a curious onlooker would notice if the head belonged to the living or the dead.

Somewhere else away from that city without moving cars and without a breath of life that was free, there was a field. It wasn't special. In another time, it would have been the same colour as that princess in the story who had the long hair in the tower. Something caught between golden, something caught between beige. Now burned stalks clung to a slightly lighter expanse of soil and the sun drew heat waves that made a group of walkers flesh crawl. All was safe. They were down closer to a long dried stream and when an arrow pierced the ground next to them, all was good. All was quiet. They were completely indifferent to each other, only stopping when their cracked shoulders bumped into another while they stumbled into the one direction of where the arrow hit.

It was a waste. A waste that Lukas wished he didn't make.

He hardly used the bow. It felt heavy on his back, but it was much better than a gun. He was chasing a rabbit. There was a trick to this – to act indifferent, to keep an eye on it but never turn his head when he noticed it beneath the branch of a dried tree or a crumbling branch. The rabbit was catching on, or maybe it was skittish from going without food for so long. He couldn't see it well enough to pick out any details, but there was simply a feeling about it that it wasn't as plump as it should be. It led him towards the road, nestled beside a bridge that had long been reduced to shambles and a stream run dry. Amongst the two arrows that Lukas fired off, one hit its mark.

The other hit the middle of a dozen walkers.

Careful of the shafts moving in his quiver, Norway crouched low. His gloved hand closed over the rabbit, and between his fingers, he pulled out the arrow all but indifferent to the moans of the undead. These months had been repetitious – but oh so much better than staying in Oslo. Nestled in the mountains, he wished he didn't have to go so far down the summit. Near the bottom of the mountains, the forests had mostly died off; his body was dry, and his breath was short. Infectious heat crept across his mouth and his cracked lips, and when he licked the dip of where the outer edge met the inside of his mouth, another stale breath of air was drawn into his starved lungs.

The entire world was out of whack.

His body no longer felt cold but cold and dry. So much ash had fallen from a nation Norway could call his little bror, and since the sky had finally cleared a year ago, he felt as though something had tilted. Something had changed. The ice melted and melted and areas at the summits of his mountains became dry and cracked, but always with a crisp bite that hurt whenever he drew in a breath of air. An age of nothing had settled on his shoulders and while he walked back into the forest of stubs and charred branches that resembled outstretched stubs of hands, his eyes were downcast. It wasn't long until the snow line started again. Soon, he'd be back up the path deeper into the summit and when he reached the cabin that Iceland and he had both stumbled on, they would eat the rabbits that were a little too light for their proper weight. He had eaten rabbits in the past. They were never this light unless if a winter was especially tedious and long. Somewhere deeper into the mountains was a village. He could feel it, a pocket of dead space in the lower ridge of his back, there but simply… not.

He never bothered to go back for the arrow. It wasn't worth the fight.

Norway's breath made small puffs of grey whenever he exhaled. When he breathed in, a shiver rose somewhere down his chest. The temperature was dropping. He could feel it every time he took a step, and every time a wisp of crisp air would blow some of his hair underneath his hat onto his face. Come morning light, and they would be safe and sound, in the cabin of a family that had long since disappeared. How many others were gone? The marrow of his bones felt weak. He hated the feeling. It wasn't right. By the time he had gotten past the path and towards a bend in the road he had found himself, the rabbits felt a tad heavier than before.

He loved retreating to the mountains. Lukas had learned more about the walkers in the past months than he had in the time he spent in that city. They could not see – they followed where they heard the nearest sound, the closest sensation. A winds breath that could either feather the curve of their rotted cheeks or cut through their tattered clothes with the intent of a blade. Most of all, they followed each dip of the earth, and went lower and lower, wherever the earth resisted the least. As long as he and Iceland went higher, they encountered less and less of the walkers, unless if a crowd had been infected near the top. The higher they went, they safe they were. They could be safe and sound if they could just find enough food and enough heat to stay warm.

"Nor,"

Lukas glanced up, his mind and his gaze torn from the ground. Iceland was not supposed to be outside. He shouldn't be up and on his legs at all until he rested enough. "Mm?" Lukas raised a brow at Emil and continued his steady pace, the sweat at the back of his neck already dried and now cold. Maybe he should lie down as well. He should be getting stronger when all his body was doing was getting weaker and weaker.

Emil regarded him with a steady gaze. "Nothing. Come inside. I got the fire started."

"The smoke…" Emil cut Lukas off.

"I took care of that,"

Well, might as well take his word for it. Lukas walked in after him, setting the rabbits down and tugging off his goggles. The room was so much brighter without the darker tint of goggles to mar his view.

"You didn't run into anything, bror?" Iceland had settled in by the fire, his knees up to his chest. Now that Lukas regarded him in a closer view, he could see that Iceland hadn't slept. His hair was tousled and his skin was sweaty, but other than that, there was nothing to show that he had fallen asleep. The bags beneath his eyes had grown. Emil hardly every slept when Lukas left.

"Nei," Lukas settled in next to him and undid his jacket, still tasting frigid air on his dry tongue. "A small group, but I drew them away."

The silence between them was comfortable. Sometimes Norway would check on Iceland and his condition, and sometimes Iceland would complain that he was being too watchful. Sometimes they would sleep. More so, Iceland slept after they cooked and ate the rabbit, though they extinguished the fire soon after and covered the meat. If any of the walkers smelled it, they would be attracted to it. The scent, the presence of life. They always came. They never gave warning. When Iceland fell asleep, there wasn't any warning to that, either. Lukas nodded off with his head resting on the top of Emil's dirtied, white locks, and they drifted to a sleep that was no longer disturbed by anything other than worries and false light.


	2. Scrapes

He woke to scraping.

Not the sensation of scraping. The sound of it and its slow scrapes against the window, slow scrapes against the door. His brows creased and he rolled over, curling in his toes in his rabbit fur lined boots. A sneeze caught in the back of his nose and his eyes screwed more tightly shut, while Emil made a noise and tossed. It was too early. The sneeze never came and when Lukas opened his eyes, the scraping had stopped and the cold finally set in. At first it wasn't bad. He pulled Emil close and ignored his annoyed sounds, and tried to keep warm with them both. Where was the blanket? They must have kicked it off. He could feel it pooling at the bottoms of their feet, along with Emil's boots. He must have kicked those off as well. Pointing his toes downwards Norway was working off his boots with his eyes closed, all to keep to a sliver of the dream he had been experiencing, when the scraping resumed.

Thump. Thump.

Maybe those thumps were the sound of his boots hitting the floorboards. Norway's breathing evened out and his eyelashes fluttered open, the top of his vision concealed by overgrown strands of blond that he had learned to ignore. He could breathe. He could see. There was hardly any light filtering into the room, and each moon beam seemed to have something dancing in it. The wings of a moth that fluttered and clung to dusty window pane reminded Lukas of something that he had seen Hong Kong give Iceland once, a piece of origami that might have been a crane. Emil missed him. Lukas turned and when his hand brushed a strand of white hair out of Iceland's sleeping face, his sleepy gaze softened. He should go back to sleep. Nothing was wrong. Nothing disturbed him and the sun hasn't even risen yet.

Scrape.

Norway pulled his hand away from Iceland's hair and his brows furrowed. Did he move? It might have been Emil's sock on the wood. No… the scrape sounded as though it were coming from the kitchenette window. Iceland stirred, and Norway pressed a finger to his lips. Something was wrong. Something was not right. The sense of security had fled him and when Norway sat up he noticed that there was a thumping against the door as well. Were they surrounded? He shouldn't jump to conclusions but it was such a long time since they met another living person that he automatically assumed it would be one of the Walkers. Iceland was already slipping on his boots, and Norway padded over towards the window, his breathing short and quiet and his body low. He knew that they wouldn't be able to see him. The infection made their eyes milky and filmed over before anything else. Still, he could move more silently if he simply stayed low and moved at such a crouch that the back of his knees ached. A floor board creaked beneath his weight, and the thumping stopped. Norway leaned forward. His eye pressed to a hole that must have been broken into the lower edge of the door by the last people who occupied the cabin, his breath held. Would he see anything? Hopefully nothing would be there. He didn't want to deal with killing another of the Walkers, but in order to get to where he needed to be, that needed to happen.

Norway could see it. It turned from side to side slowly, rocking back and forth on the balls of its heels. He couldn't tell if it had been a girl or a boy, but that didn't matter any longer. A Walker is a Walker and nothing more. His breath caught in the back of his throat when it took a dragging step forward, and when it started to thrash against the door, he wasn't prepared when the door swung and hit him in the face and sent him sprawling. Something fell onto him. His nails dug into flesh that felt too cold and too pert. Bloated flesh spread away from his fingers and he gagged, the scent of decay and dust filling his nose. Ugh, it was disgusting. He heard jaws clack together and when more shuffling of numb feet and too heavy boots filled his ears, the Walker went limp and Norway pushed him off.

"Go to the back!" Emil called, already grabbing their bags.

"Ja, on it!" Lukas took one glance back at the silenced Walker and grabbed the arrow out of its forehead, getting to his feet and grabbing his boots from next to the fireplace. Already more walkers were staggering inside. He fumbled and jumped around a bit all to get them on faster, and dove forward to grab his quiver, Emil diving forward to push the closest one back.

"What time is it?"

"Is now really the time for that question!" Norway's voice rose a little higher than usual, but it didn't matter. The walkers knew that they were here. He caught the quiver and bow when it was thrown to him and walked deeper into the cabin. Iceland needed to hurry up. They wouldn't kill the Walkers, no, that would take too long – but they needed to put space between them. He let a chair fall when his leg bumped into it, and only stopped to glance back. Already the Walkers were beginning to stand. By the time they had gotten to their feet both Lukas and Emil had passed through the hallway leading to the back, their boots loud in the otherwise silent cabin.

"The door…" Emil breathed, but Lukas had already seen it. They had put a dresser in front of the back door all for the reason that it would be easier to defend each other if they had to only worry about one door. The back door wouldn't open – its knob had been bashed out and left nearby, to leave the door to swing dully with the Northern wind.

"Get to the bedroom," Lukas grabbed the hammer off of his belt, shifting his bow so it wouldn't fall from its place on the quiver. The hammer was top heavy, but that didn't matter. He had washed the blood off of it recently and checked for any marks, but it was strong; it wouldn't break for a long while as long as he was careful.

"I'm going!"

When they both got into the room, Lukas wasted no time in pushing a night stand over in front of the door. Maybe he shouldn't have done that. Emil shifted from foot to foot, a little jittery from anticipation, while the Walkers clumsily stumbled over objects that Lukas couldn't put a name to.

"What now?" Emil breathed and Lukas took a step forward, watching the door out of the corner of his eye.

"The glass." The two words were simple. They were two words that he uttered in a level voice, with a hidden command that Emil understood and Lukas was already doing. His hands closed over the edge of his hammer, and he looked at the glass floor to ceiling window steadily, noticing how serene it looked outside. Nothing compared to what the rest of the world must be experiencing.

"Don't get cut, bror."

"I won't."

Norway was already at the glass. The first time, he tried to throw the hammer, and it bounced off harmlessly. The Walkers had found them and the door that Iceland was leaning against shuddered every time they threw their bodies against it, and held tight, though his chest fluttered every time he heard their frustrated moans. The next time Norway threw the hammer, the door shuddered and even opened up a tad, its knob knocking into the small of Iceland's back. He shoved the nightstand roughly against the door once more, Lukas only barely distracted when the lamp clattered to the hardwood floor. His hammer bounced off harmlessly once more. The next time it left a mark. Another time, a crack had started to form.

"Just ram it, bror…" Emil called out, pushing his weight against the door. He wasn't doing too well – his body held nearly no resistance to the thumping door whatsoever.

"This is stupid," Norway let out a sigh and finally swung the hammer down. The glass began to crack and spider web, and his swinging relaxed a little. They could get out. As long as Emil kept the door closed, they would be fine. He swung again and again, alternating in different sweeps each time. By the time he felt the glass give and come closer to breaking; one of the Walkers let out a frustrated screech, and threw its body hard enough against the door to send Emil toppling to the ground.

"I'm okay!" He cried out, but one of the walkers was already on top of him. Another tried to push at the other, all to sink their teeth into Iceland's feverish skin.

"Ice, move!" Norway cried out and he dove forward, the hammer raised. Clinging to his clothes were specks of glass that fell off when he moved, cracking beneath his white boots. They were too close. Too close to biting Iceland and taking another shred of their family away. In that moment where Norway's lips moved to mumble words, the seconds became utterly silent. Not in sound. But in feeling. The air took on an electric feeling and green light rebounded off the walls when his troll formed from somewhere in front of his chest. In a blur of green and grey, the Walkers were knocked off, as well as the breath from inside Norway's chest.

"Lukas, you can't use that!" Emil was already on his feet, grabbing Norway's arm.

"I just…" he coughed out and held his hand in front of his mouth, a copper taste on his tongue. There was no time to speak. The Walkers were getting back onto their feet, and the glass on the hardwood floor and patio outdoors wouldn't slow them down. Their arms were locked together and they both ran, Norway a little faster than the other, although his lungs hurt every time he breathed. "Keep going," there was no point to say that. They were going as fast as they could. Whoever tripped first was unknown to Lukas. The backyard of the cabin was simple, and it went by in a blur – they reached the middle of it and one of them slipped on Ice, scaring a flurry of fireflies into the air and across the expanse of the yard, bringing them both toppling to the ground. When Lukas fell, he could feel his arrows flying out of his quiver and land somewhere on the snow lined grass. His hammer slipped from his grasp and when he reached out to grab it, unconsecrated hands were on them both and teeth were too close to their flesh for comfort.

Norway kicked. Norway fought. The palm of his hand hit the jaw of one of the Walkers and his knee shot up to hit its abdomen, but it never responded. It didn't care. If it could feel pain, Norway had no idea, but all he was concerned with was getting away from its teeth and its nails and its breath that reeked of carrion.


	3. Crushed Snow

Snow crunched beneath feet.

Jaws clacked.

Iceland cried out.

A gun was cocked.

Red.

So much red.

He had waited for impact and pain, but the only pain that came was the shock of cold blood splattered onto his skin and a heavy, dead weight body against his skin. Lukas gasped. More footsteps crunched onto the snow and someone shouted, but the gunshot was still ringing in his head. The weight came off of his chest. He could breathe, but he was afraid to open his mouth. There was something cold on it. Maybe it was the Walker's blood. Either way, he refused to open his mouth.

"Sp't it ou'!"

"He didn't open his mouth yet!"

The two voices fell on numb ears and Lukas was rolled over on the snow by something, and immediately he started to brush his face off with the snow. Another gunshot cried, and Iceland was speaking in rapid bursts that surprised Lukas and comforted him. Emil was alright. That was fine. Neither of them were infected as far as he knew, and he couldn't taste any copper in his mouth when he vigorously rubbed his face off in the white snow. All was fine. All was safe and sound. Someone grabbed his shoulder. Lukas stopped staring at Emil, and stared up into a rosy cheeked Finland. The silenced Walker was still on his legs, his head blown off and out of Norway's vision. That didn't matter. It only made him stumble when he grasped Finland's hand and looked from him to Sweden, from Sweden to Finland, back and forth numbly. Where did they come from? That didn't matter, either. None of it mattered. Lukas took in a breath of crisp air and let himself be pulled in by Finland, not bothering to push him away. He missed Finland. He missed Sweden. Maybe he was still dreaming.

The air and snow on his face felt too cold to be a dream. The moonlight was too vibrant. The clouds that his breath made were too thin to be made by his mind. This was real. This was happening. This was _whole. _

"Nor, how 're ya?" Sometime during their exchange Sweden and moved forward and wrapped his arms around the two, his arms large enough to encircle them both. More snow crunched beneath a pair of feet. Emil had eased his way next to them, and Finland was already ushering him into the hug. He wouldn't hug back, but he wouldn't push away. Just as Lukas had done.

"Fine," he uttered and made a small, relieved snort. "I'm fine!" He was fine. He wasn't infected. He wasn't dead and he certainly hadn't Returned. He was _fine. _

The best thing about it that the other three were fine, as well.

"I hope we didn't come too late!" Finland was smiling and he even laughed a little at the end. Both Lukas and Emil could hear it in his voice when it ached to a chord that pulled something in his cold numbed chest. "Lucky shot, huh?"

Berwald shifted, breathing in at Norway's hair. "We heard yellin."

"We weren't yelling…" Iceland's voice was muffled, the shortest of them all. He had found a way to be tucked in at the center with Norway, his head against Norway's fur lined coat. Lukas could hear the frown in his voice.

"Over exaggeration, then?" Finland was smiling again.

"How did you find us…?" Norway finally looked up.

"We didn't," Sweden lifted his head. "We c'n explain l'ter. More are comin."

Lukas breathed out. It never ended, did it? The crisp night air distracted him from the scent of carrion but he could definitely see splatters of blood, stark on the snow. He could hardly see them. Sweden's arms were in the way and for the first time since they had fallen asleep in that cabin, Norway felt warm.

"Luck!" Finland was the first to let go, and Emil straightened himself. "We gotta hurry, though! We're a little further up the mountain."

"Where are you both headed?" Emil brushed himself off and stood away from the hug. His gaze fell on Lukas and Berwald, but Berwald had already let go and Lukas was simply standing there, his gaze a little more sharp and a little more fierce than it had been before. That was good. That was comforting. Norway's gaze had been getting more and more dull with each day that passed by.

Finland held a finger up to his lips and began to walk. "We'll explain that, too!"

"Talk'n won't hurt, T'no."

"It'll be easier to explain in the car."

Norway's head shot up, the crunching of his boots on the bloodied snow slowing. "Car? You two found a car with gas?"

"Mm. Ja." Berwald was already ahead of them, and it was then that Norway noticed that he had his larger pole with him. Something that looked harmless, but could parry any blow from Denmark's axe.

He raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage that…?"

"We had to clear out a street, but the crowd wasn't big." Already Finland had reached the bend of the road, and Emil kept on glancing back to the house, as though more of the Walkers would walk out towards them. It was a nervous gesture. He didn't want to be chased. He didn't want to see any more of their grey flesh in the pale moonlight.

"Mm." Lukas nodded and looked upwards towards the sky, his gaze softening when he saw the aurora. They usually never stood outside during night any more. It wasn't safe – not up here, not in the mountains, where any Walker or any person could be hiding behind a stone or in the forest. Follow the paths created by the wild. Never stray to the main roads. Go _up._

"Hey…" Emil began. "How many are up there?"

"None!" Finland looked back at them, and Norway glanced sharply at him. None? At all? Sounded too good to be true.

"Wh't he means is," Berwald started. "Is tha' we clear'd out the top o' the mount'n."

"Oh?"

"Ja," the moon disappeared behind a dip of one of the snow capped mountains. Iceland's fair blond hair seemed suddenly darker in the shadow of the mountain. "Higher ya go, less z'mbies th're are."

Finland made a face that Norway could hardly make out in the dim light. "We're not in a horror movie, Berwald."

"Feels l'ke it,"

Norway made a soft snort and they turned yet another bend, their footsteps crunching gravel. Sweden and Finland were murmuring softly to each other, Sweden's head bent down to hear him. It wasn't long until they reached the car. It wasn't even special – something made by some manufacturer that Norway couldn't quite remember, most likely from Italy or maybe even Japan. When they arrived, Sealand's face was pressed against the window. His nose pushed back, and if he was smiling, Lukas couldn't see from how far away they were. His breath fogged up that little spot too much. If his cheeks were anything to go by, he had the biggest smile anyone could ever imagine.

"Did ya keep the child lock on? He's trying to open the door," Finland smiled at him, his hand waving.

"Ja. Didn't want him r'nnin off,"

"Trust the kid more," Finland had popped open the back seat and Sealand ran out with a war cry, running to Norway first. Lukas took a step back to brace for impact, but he didn't have to worry. Peter was light. "He's almost a teenager."

"Mama…" Peter frowned into Norway's abdomen and then looked back at Tino. "I'm not a kid!"

"Right," Lukas found his expression softening, and he patted the top of Sealand's head. "What happened to your hat, Peter?"

"Blew off in the riots." He pressed his nose back into Norway's stomach. "Did'ja find uncle? Did ya?"

Norway's patting had paused. That look on his face had returned. It wasn't dramatic – there was hardly anything dramatic about Lukas. The softening of his expression suddenly seemed _distant _to their eyes, and in that single moment, his face hardened and he opened his mouth to speak. It opened and closed for a few times, all the while he looked for something to say. To say anything to get the point across to Sealand that they haven't found Denmark since the night of the Return and when all connection was cut off.

Iceland stole the words right off of the tip of his tongue. "No. If anything, he's in a bar or something." Maybe those weren't the exact words that Norway was going to use. They got the point across, and kept things light. Sealand never laughed. If he frowned, Norway never saw. His shoulders slumped lightly against Norway's sides and he took a step back.

"Have you talked to him, Uncle Nor?"

Something formed in his throat and their eyes connected. Sealand, small and fragile, had changed since Norway last saw him. He defiant pout of his lower lip had grown. He wasn't smiling. His eyebrows were still bushy, albeit not as bad as England, but they were set in a way that reminded Norway of whenever Denmark had tried to hold back negative emotion. It hurt. Now, Iceland was silent. Lukas never broke their gaze, his hand raised to a shallow cut on the curve of Peter's cheek.

"Nei. I haven't."

_Darling, everything's on fire  
>The war outside our door keeps raging on<br>Hold onto this lullaby  
>Even when the music's gone<br>Gone_

The drive out was slow.

Sealand really had no idea who to go to after the exchange between him and Norway was over. By the end of it, he settled for being in the middle of Iceland and Norway, his head on Iceland's shoulder and his feet on Norway's lap. It was a wonder how his head didn't fall off every time the car hit a bump in the road.

They were doing fine for gas. Lukas was worried, but he didn't have to – so many cans of gas were in the back that Norway had to wonder if they ransacked one of the gas stations in a city or a town. When he asked about it, he was told that was only half of it. They had been travelling across Sweden, and lucky enough to stumble across one of the trucks that carried car gas. Shortly after a crowd of Walkers were attracted to the scent. Half of the truck was lost when they set fire to the gas and let the Walkers burn while they drove away.

Their destination was simple. Oresund Bridge. Norway had no idea how they would ever manage to get that far, but apparently Sweden had a plan. Who else would know the landscape better than him? Eventually Iceland had dozed off to a sleep, and the conversation went from baking, to the mountains, to Peter, and finally to what happened to the rest of the world. That had always been a subject that Lukas avoided. Ever since the Return, getting to Sweden had been a pain – but it was obviously worth the struggle. If the slow breathing body in between him and Iceland, and the two up front, were anything to show for it. Lukas licked his lower lip, his mouth filling with a certain taste. They were fine. They were all fine.

"Spain was caught in one of the riots, but he's alright. Romano is…" Finland carried off.

"Bitt'n."

"But it's fine! I mean, his country isn't completely gone, so he won't turn yet."

Norway remained silent.

"F'n, he's still _infected."_

"Spain is taking care of him."

"Mm."

Lukas stared outside of the window, their ride becoming a little easier when they started going down the mountain. For the most part, they could see nothing. Nothing suggested that they weren't out for driving through the mountains. Nothing suggested anything off aside from shapes that Lukas could sometimes see deeper into the tree line, and the half eaten carcass of an elk strewn in front of the path. They had to drive around it, going down the rut in the road slightly, causing such a disturbance that Iceland blinked out of sleep and looked to Norway.

He wanted to ask about Hong Kong and the rest of Asia. Maybe Lukas would ask another time when Iceland couldn't hear.

"What about Canada?"

"Mm. We d'nt know." Sweden licked his lips, focused on the road. "It's s'pposed ta be free of zoms."

"Supposed to be?"

"Canada closed off its borders as soon as the infection broke out," Finland clarified. "But that's fine! He and America are probably together, working on something to fix all of this."

Berwald rolled his shoulders. "'Sides, the virus don't like cold."

"Not true." Finland had started to spin his hat on his index finger. "They get slowed down and sometimes they freeze, but they can go through _anything."_

Lukas turned his gaze away from the fading aurora. "Sorry, how cold are we talking?"

"Cold as Swedish balls."

"Hej, m' balls are perf'ctly warm,"

The ride went on like that - Lukas asking questions, and giving back what he learned of the Walkers. More and more he stood away from the topic of what happened to the countries. A lot were considered black outs. England had stopped all contact with the others, and it was unknown if he was simply being secluded or if his country had been taken over. Italy was bitten and Germany had to put a bullet through his head. France was depleting. Word had come from further and further east, and finally they got onto the topic of Russia. Most of the country was bombed. So many ships had moved back and forth from country to country, and with each ship, came new word – either that or the ship washed ashore, unmanned and filled with unsilenced Walkers. Russia was gone. Ukraine followed. Belarus stayed. Bombs were sent to America. No more word came. Superpowers were silenced and China was rumored to be a _black area – _a horde of Walkers, spreading faster and faster. Hong Kong should be gone. Japan would have been next if they knew anything else about the East. When they ran into Belgium, she had been infected and Returned – her country was gone. They found the Netherlands nearby the spot where they found Belgium, a bullet through his head and the gun that he used in his hand. Iceland's hand smoothed over Peter's hair, and the car was silent once more.  
>It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. They were mourning. While they talked, so much of their information disagreed with the other – the further east their talk went, the more obscure and the more vague it became until they could only sit and guess while the car drove forward through the mountains.<p>

Iceland smoothed over the hair of Sealand's forehead. "What happened to Ukraine?"

By now, Sweden and Finland had switched. Finland sat at the wheel, not paying much mind to Berwald and his slow breathing chest. It was just a relief to hear his low, deep snores. "She… was running. I don't know. They wouldn't tell me,"

"The people?"

"The people who came off the barges."

"Mm."

Iceland nibbled at his lip and glanced over at the sleeping Norway. The sun wasn't even close to rising, and his eyes felt heavy. His sleep had been disturbed. At least it wasn't disturbed by teeth passing through the barrier of his flesh and into his blood. To distract himself, he spoke once more. "Tell me what you know."

"You sure, Ice?"

"Yes."

There was another pause.

"Russia was infected. I don't even know if it w_as _Russia – this is just something I overheard, and it sounded _like _him."

"Go on."

"He ended up throwing himself off of a cliff. Ukraine watched." Finland's voice had dropped low at the end of that, as though he didn't want to speak those words. They were gossip. They might not even be true. Still, Emil breathed in sharply, and offered no other solace.

"I think she might have been crying – they said that she was about to fall off the cliff, but a horde found her. She… she didn't last."

"And Belarus?" Iceland's voice was quiet. Almost as quiet as Finland sounded only a moment before.

"I don't know."

"Mm."


	4. Light in Your Eyes

"Hey, Mama?"

They were around a fire now. It wasn't bright at all – warm enough to keep away the chill from their toes, but still cold to keep the chill in their bones. It stuck to them. The cold held them close and bit into their flesh, but not Peter. Not with his back against Sweden's chest and Finland's arms around his shoulders.

"Mm?"

"No one can see this fire, right?" Peter bit his lip, and Tino wiped the sleep from his eyes.

"Just close your eyes, the sun is going down." Tino pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"… Mama… I'm worried."

"You're safe and sound, Berwald and I are here." Tino pushed some hair out of his face. It was soft, and held a shine – earlier they ran into a police station, and used their tank for water to wash. There was only enough shampoo for Peter, but that was fine. "Norway is back," he tucked the hair behind his ear. "And Iceland is safe."

"We were almost too late,"

"We made through it, didn't we?"

Silence met the camp. In the muted twilight, the fire burned, and a moth danced. Next to the fire, over Peter's shoulder, it reminded Tino of an origami butterfly. The tug of wind blew it away, and the sparks that came off from the fire reminded him of fireflies. Red fireflies.

Peter held his breath. "What if Denmark isn't…"

Tino swallowed, his voice a muted hush. "Peter, is your light going out?"

"Wait, what?"

"Is your light going out."

Peter blinked, and looked up. At the corner of his dirtied eyes were sleep and tears that wouldn't fall. That piece of hair fell in front of his face once more, and Finland kissed it away with the tips of his fingers. Those tears thickened. Three years before the world had fallen to its knees and its anthems had been silenced, he wouldn't have had the restrain that he showed now. Tino didn't know whether to be proud of his child, or if he should kiss away those tears and let his heart split. A tremor met the tips of Peter's fingers. This time, it was his turn to push hair away from Tino's face – and there it fell, tucked behind his ear, dirtied and the same colour as shadowed snow. His hand fell. Tino's lips parted and there the subdued fire took hold of their ears, and that hand struck a chord in his chest somewhere along the way of pushing his hair out of his face and falling to the worn blanket beneath them. All was quiet. Not all was right, but enough was right to bring Finland back a taste of what used to be.

He finally tried to speak. Peter's legs curled in on themselves, and his golden head fell back onto Tino's arm with a quiet, dull frown tugging at the corners of his lips. Did words need to be spoken? His lips parted, but no sound came out, and the crack of flame kept them from coming. Its silent lance stole them, its heat kept them from his lips and Finland could only pull him close, disturbing the arm strewn across Sealand's waist.

Moments passed. Peter breathed. Sweden slept.

"Once I thought Mathias' light would go out."

Peter's head rose.

"It never did. You know when Sweden and I ran away, the next morning a storm hit, and he almost froze to death. Stupid thing." Tino's lip rose in a smile and he shook his head. "He was looking for us the entire morning. Norway found him kneeling in the snow."

"Did uncle freeze?" Peter frowned, but his eyes were light. Lighter than before.

"Of course not!" Tino continued with a smile on his face. "Island and Norway helped him. Years passed, and he kept on fighting, you know? To get us all back. As a family."

"You all don't live together anymore, though…"

"You're right." That hair moved back in front of his face, and Peter hardly noticed when Tino brushed it away once more. "But right now? We're closer than we ever have been."

"I miss uncle,"

"We all do."

All was quiet. Peter broke the silence.

"Will he come back?"

"Well… we'll have to find him first," Tino pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead, and drew him close. "We've found Norway and Iceland, just in the nick of time. He's probably fishing on Oresund, waiting for us now."

"Or in a bar." Tino had to listen to understand Peter – his voice had fell to a low hush. When he did hear him, he smiled.

"What happens if we lose everyone? Like uncle lost everyone?"

"You'll still have me, Peter."

* * *

><p>They shouldn't be this fast.<p>

Footsteps fell. A gunshot cried. Somewhere nearby, a silver bullet was pressed into the wood of a tree and he had only moments to move out of the way. Sweat clung to his brow, and he kept on running, only stopping when he needed to. Those moments were slim. By the time he had gone deeper into the forest and encountered another dozen or so Walkers, his lungs were screaming and he wanted nothing other than to stop and breathe. He couldn't. They were too fast. Come morning light, and he would be one of them.

"Fuck off!" There was no point in yelling. Not now. He fired off another round, and he thought that one of them might have fallen, but there were more screeches and more footsteps and more moans to cover the sound of a downed body. He ran. His feet ached, but he ran – deeper and deeper into the forest, over stones, through brush until his boots were full with mud and water from a lake that was more a swamp than anything else. He needed to get to the wood house. He needed to open the door to the swamp shack. Germany would be there. Prussia would be next to him. He sprinted, and somewhere inside the water, his water clogged boot caught on something hard and painful. His ankle jerked, and Mathias fell face forward into the mud just as the door to the shack swung open and a dozen or so bullets rained over his head and into the forest.

"Germany!"

Mathias was grinning when he took his head out of the frigid water, and spat out a clump of its muck. Though, it wasn't Germany. It was Prussia with a cigarette in his grinning mouth and a machine gun in his arms. Mathias' smile fell, but that was fine. Germany would be inside. He kept from fighting as much as he used to ever since he had to silence Italy.

"Use the flame thrower!"

He shouldn't egg him on. Well, not when Germany hardly spoke to scold him. Prussia raised his brow and motioned to his left ear, but a spray of bullets was pushed into the water, and he had to grab the gun again before he wasted any more shots. Mathias stood, and the back of his jacket was grabbed. Well, that couldn't be good. The spray of gunfire had ended and Mathias dove forward, getting another mouthful of mud filled water. His hand raised his hand gun, and as soon as it came into contact with bloated flesh, he fired.

It was only luck that it was pressed to the back of the zombie's throat. A spray of blood followed, and Mathias kicked out of the water and grasped the deck. Why were they so fast? The Walkers must be Finnish.

Mathias snorted.

Prussia began firing once more.

"Your axe is inside!" Prussia called, but Mathias was already pushing the door open and going inside. The room was meticulous. If anything, Germany must have spent the last hour sorting their provisions out. When Mathias stepped inside, Ludwig's head shot up from his spot, but Mathias wasn't paying attention. He just needed the axe.

* * *

><p>Norway didn't know how it happened, exactly.<p>

It had been a week, and the days were getting repetitive. That was fine. He didn't mind. It was when they were getting closer to Denmark that they encountered a walker. Now, they had just gotten past the last mountain – more and more Walkers had started to appear, the closer and closer they got to Denmark. When they passed a forest, they had the scare of being chased by one that could run.

That was fine. A bullet in the head was all that it took.

This time was different than the last. They didn't see it coming. They heard no moan, no screech, no shuffle of feet and they saw no shambling out of the corners of their eyes. The car was going fast – too fast, but they had reached an open stretch of road, and it was the first time they could go straight since they had escaped the mountains. Everything had gone downhill from there on, as soon as something jumped out from behind a sign and in front of their car. Finland at the wheel flinched, and the world was toppled over. No, the world wasn't what had toppled and turned. Norway's head hit the side of the window and he thought he heard something crack, but a distinct ringing had filled his ears. Someone cried out amid the screech of metal, and glass shattered. The screaming was cut short with an abrupt crash. Norway's lungs ached when his seat belt constricted over his chest. The breath was knocked out of him and his head snapped back, but this time, there was no window to stop it.

They flipped.

His vision went black, and the only thing that let him know that he was still awake was the ringing in his ears and the wet on his cheek. Please, please don't let the car be in water… please… Lukas breathed in. His chest shuddered and squeezed, but no water met his lips - only a dull throb that met his mind with numb clarity. That had to be about when the crying started.

"_Peter!"_

His eyes opened. Inches away from his nose was the seat in front of him, but the scene outside made no sense – the ground was where the sky should be. Norway's eyes blurred. An aching filled his stomach and he grappled to take off his seat belt, when he noticed that smoke was starting to fill the back seat. It clung to him. Its breath touched his lips, and when the seat belt finally let go, glass dug into his skin. Someone's crying outside grew. Lukas gritted his teeth, and kicked the remaining pane of glass out with the heel of his boot.

"Oh my god… oh my _god,"_

The voice belonged to Finland. In fact, the pure ragged distress in his voice was so alien to Lukas that it didn't click. Not right away. Smoke dirtied his overgrown hair, and with a limp, he walked. Where was Sweden? Dimly through the smoke, Norway could see an outline that looked like Finland, down on his knees, bent over something on the ground. He could see no Sweden. He could hear no Iceland. The silence was too thick near the car. Gas hissed. There was too much red. He could see, but he could not feel – not when he limped dully over to the other side of the car, the toes of his boots reddened with blood.

"Mama, what is that?" Something that felt like relief pulled a chord in Norway's chest, and Peter sounded fine. He continued to walk.

"M-mama… _is that bone?"_

Keep walking. Norway needed to turn around, he needed to turn to Finland, but where was all of this blood coming from? He didn't remember it when he was in the back seat. In fact, he really couldn't make much sense of that moment.

"Peter, shhhh…" Finland's voice rose and broke, and it wasn't convincing at all. Something pulled at Norway's chest. He put a hand on the hot metal of the torn side door, and peered inside to the source of the blood. At first he didn't recognize Emil. His eyes were open and bloodshot. His lips, ice flower petals, were whiter than ever before.

Lukas fell to his knees.

"E-Emil…"

Someone shifted in the front seat and groaned. Lukas didn't pay attention. His knees felt damp, knelt in the blood of his brother, and he jerked the door open. He couldn't see. The world was a blur. Dampness fell onto his cheeks, where the blood from before had already dried. No words could be said. Fingers shook. Emil's lips parted, but only when Lukas put the tip of his finger to them.

They were already cold.

"No… no no no…" His voice broke. Oh god no. No. Please, Emil, please…

Finland was saying something. The front door to the overturned car was shoved open and someone rolled out, but Lukas didn't notice. His hands were on the curve of Emil's cheek, the dip of where his neck met his shoulder. His bloodied scarf. His waist that disappeared where something metal met the side of his abdomen and hung there loosely.

"Bror, please,"

Lukas wiped liquid off of Emil's cheek, and stopped when more splatters appeared. Tears. His vision cleared only when Lukas wiped his eyes, and he leaned deeper into the car, glass pressing into his numb skin.

Emil wouldn't respond. His eyes lay numb to the world.

"Please!"

A hand fell on Lukas' shoulder. "Dar'ln, everyth'ns on f're."

He didn't notice. Not now.

Emil still smelled like Emil. Norway found his head buried in the crook of his neck, and he was rocking him, chest heaving and shoulders quaking. Emil wouldn't respond. He wouldn't wake. His eyes were open, but they did not see. The light had gone from his eyes, and the shadows of the crash had stolen it away.


End file.
